


Cruel [Inktober 2018]

by california_112



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Chases, Hurt/Comfort, ITV Endeavour, Inktober, Inktober 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/california_112/pseuds/california_112
Summary: “After him, after him!” As the DI’s cry rang out, the other five officers turned just in time to see the bolting shadow flicker into the mist. “Pair up and split when we get to the road, don’t lose him!”All the officers started running, foxes after a hare, but Morse and Jakes, younger than the rest, reached the head of the alleyway first, their partners far behind.“You go left,” Jakes panted, pointing, and then sprinted off into the fog.-or-Our Oxford City boys have cornered a murderer, but he's not giving up without a fight.ABSOLUTELY 0% SPOILERS FOR ANYTHINGThis is for Inktober 2018 - Thursday 11th October, Cruel.





	Cruel [Inktober 2018]

[Mood Music Because Why Not](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fmusic.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dt1xuQdPHjig%26feature%3Dshare&t=ODIzMTJhYTIwMjc0YzcyNmRmOTIzMWY0ZjQ4YmYwOTI3MTNjYTY4MyxvQVA1SUVZUw%3D%3D&b=t%3Avtw0wDP_mAdStWq336YHrQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fcarryon-writing.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F178856452026%2Fthursday-11th-october-2018-cruel-1453-words&m=1)

* * *

          "Careful, he's just 'round this corner."

DI Thursday looked around the men he'd bought with him to bring in this dangerous suspect, and the keen faces of DC Morse, DS Jakes, PC Strange, PC James and PC Henderson looked back, milk white faces almost glowing in the darkness of the alley. After two weeks, they had finally found the bolt hole of a serial strangler, but to their dismay he'd run before they'd arrived. However, PC Henderson had spotted him whilst on patrol, and called for back-up, meaning that Thursday had been dragged out of his warm bed by Morse's phone call, but it was worth it if it made the streets of Oxford safer.

          "Alright, let's move in. Go in pairs and surround, in case he bolts again."

Silent as ghosts, the six figures paired up and spread out into the thin mist, just about able to keep in sight of each other, indistinct figures in the gloom. Thursday addressed the killer first.

          "Miller, we know you're there." he called, his voice echoing around the slimy bricks. "We also know it was you that killed Fiona Hargrave. Come forward now, and my officers just might be that little bit nicer."

          "No!" Miller's voice burst out from surprisingly close by, making Thursday flinch away instinctively. "I never killed her! You've got the wrong man!"

          "Why are you running then?" Jakes asked. "If you're innocent, why hide from the truth."

          "I didn't kill her!" Miller's voice was high now, scared, but still with conviction.

Thursday took a step forward. "Miller, we know it was-"

          "Stay back!" Thursday pulled up quickly as a hand thrust out of the fug, a sharp silver glint in its thin fingers. "You let me go," Miller continued, his face visible as a dark mask, "and everyone's happy."

          "Miller, don't-"

But before Thursday could do anything, Miller was sprinting past him, back out of the alley.

          "After him, after him!" As the DI's cry rang out, the other five officers turned just in time to see the bolting shadow flicker into the mist. "Pair up and split when we get to the road, don't lose him!"

All the officers started running, foxes after a hare, but Morse and Jakes, younger than the rest, reached the head of the alleyway first, their partners far behind.

          "You go left," Jakes panted, pointing, and then sprinted off into the fog.

Morse couldn’t see much of where he was running, but he knew enough of Oxford to run the streets blind. Breathing hard, he just managed to catch a glimpse of Miller's shadow before it rounded a corner, and skidding around after him Morse saw the murderer climbing a tall stone wall. Making a leap for one of the disappearing ankles, Morse caught one for a second, but it lashed out, catching his wrist between the boot and the wall. Gasping at the sudden pain, he opened his hand reflexively, and the ankle slipped out of reach, the figure crouching just out of normal reach on the wall. Realising that Miller was on the brink of getting away, Morse took a short run up and a misjudged leap, just managing to grab Miller's arm. Miller tried to jump away, falling over the wall, jerking Morse over with him. The DC's ribcage scraped painfully over the old stones, and then he was falling, the stench of bins filling his nostrils. The two of them landed in a pile-up on the other side, and Morse heard Miller stifle a cry into the hard ground of the bin yard. When Miller got up, Morse was rolled onto his back where he lay gasping, as the murderer limped towards the corner of the small rubbish-filled courtyard they had fallen into. Morse's wrist felt like it was on fire, and his ribcage as though it had been run over. But, the murderer was still running, and Morse could still walk. Rolling over and pushing himself up, Morse could see Miller trying to open the back door into the shop whose back yard they had stumbled into. Limping over to him as fast as he could, which was painfully slow, Morse called out to him.

          "Miller, you did kill her, we have evidence." Every word dragged his ribs over another stone. "Fingerprints, eyewitnesses."

          "I didn't kill Fi.” Miller stopped his work for a second. “I would never, she was my-"

          "You were cruel to her, you beat her, and then you strangled her!" Morse said. "And then, anyone who got close, you did for them too!"

          "I just wanted us to be happy."

          "And you ended up ruining all your lives, most of all hers!"

Miller pulled out the knife again with a jerk, and Morse gasped, remembering another blade on another cold, dark night. Miller was desperate now, maybe he wouldn't hesitate to-

          "Morse?"

Thursday's voice called through the darkness, accompanied by the scrabbling sound of metal on stone. He started to call out, got out a faint 'Sir-', but took his eyes off Miller for just a second, but a second too long. The next thing Morse knew Miller's arm was jerking his head back, pressing into his windpipe, and cold yet slightly wet steel was pressed against his neck. Miller's harsh breathing was in his ear, and he couldn't hear anything else, except his own heart beating too loudly in his ears.

          "Let him go." Thursday's voice but through his terror, deep and powerful. "You'll gain nothing by killing him, except a longer sentence."

          "I never killed her!" Miller said, and then he repeated it, louder, Morse's brain reeling from the volume. "I NEVER KILLER HER!"

          "And you won't be killing him either." Jakes' smooth voice came from just behind Morse's head, and the next second Miller slipped to the ground, unconscious by the cosh that Jakes was wielding.

Morse, his vision blurry from lack of air mixed with fatigue, slipped to the ground with him, but quickly felt someone next to him.

          "Morse. Morse!" Jakes.

          "What'd Miller do to him?" Thursday.

Rustling, a hand in fabric, somewhere in Miller's direction. A sudden change in Thursday's breathing. "Morse, where did he get you?" Slow thoughts, struggling to see past his throbbing wrist and ribcage. But no stab wound.

          "Nowhere." Morse muttered, blinking slowly, but still unable to see much. "Only wall. Wrist."

A hand went to his wrist, and the burst of flame was the last straw. The curtains fell, and the darkness deepened.

* * *

          "…Morse, he's still sleeping."

A faint sensation of sunlight, warm and soft on his face. Soft sheets and fluffy pillows. Wondering what kind of strange cleaning fairy had been to his flat, he opened his eyes. Oh, not his flat then. Not the hospital either, thankfully.

          "Sir?"

DI Thursday turned around, a smile coming to his face. He was still dressed in yesterday's clothes, his hair falling unchecked around his weary face. He had been leaning in the door of a strange room, which Morse now realised must be-

          "Your house, Sir?"

          "My house, Morse." Thursday said, sitting in the chair next to the bed. "Couldn't just leave you at your flat, don't have a key for one thing."

          "Did you get Miller?" Morse asked, pushing himself up on the pillows.

          "We got Miller, and we almost though he'd got you. Luckily, Doctor DeBryn said that the only things wrong are bruised ribs and a fractured wrist."

          "How long have I been out?" asked Morse, rubbing his faintly pulsing head.

          "Not too long this time." Morse looked confused. "You woke up a few times, but you wouldn't remember," Thursday explained, "you were quite delirious. You been sleeping alright?"

Morse ignored the question, and made to get out of bed, saying "I'll be in later to sort out the details, Miller must have-"

          "You'll do no such thing, you'll stay here and keep my Win company." Thursday said, gently pushing the covers back.

          "I'm sure Mrs. Thursday can do without-"

          "You need to recover, Morse, you're lucky your injuries aren't any worse. Seeing that blood on the knife we thought Miller'd stabbed you, but turns out he only got himself in the hand when he fell off that wall, nothing serious."

          "I still need to-"

          "What you need to do, is-"

          "-eat this, dear." Mrs. Thursday appeared in the doorway, a tray in hand, and made her way to Morse's bedside. "Good to see you awake again, after last night."

Thursday looked slightly smug, but still a little worried. Feeling his eyes hot on his face, Morse sipped some of the soup, savouring the chicken flavour. When he looked up again, after draining half the bowl, the room was empty. He was just in time to hear the front door close softly, and the sound of Thursday's heavy receding footsteps on the path. Maybe he wouldn't go in later, if he wasn't in Mrs. Thursday's way, but with the warm soup inside him, his eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. Maybe, just a few more minutes.

**Author's Note:**

> i tried rip. not sure if it worked out...i was going to do more, but i'm not brave enough for DeBryn yet :/
> 
> Hey there! I'm still very new to writing for this fandom, but getting into it now, I've got two more works lined up for this month, and something big planned for the future! Feel free to critique my work, I need all the advice I can get :) ~Cosmo
> 
> [Crossposted on Tumblr: @carryon-writing]


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